For The Ladies
by dear cecil
Summary: A collection of fics centered around the original male characters and the genderbends done by Magellan, also known as angrytalic. They are generally "romantic," and generally durpy.
1. Standards

Written for Magellan's birthday. I think Magellan is a pretty cool guy; eh draws amazing genderbends and doesn't afraid of anything; not even the Battle of Mactan.

* * *

Sniper had no problem working with women. His own mother had worked her arse off for years, something she had never failed to gently mention in those awkward teenage years of his when he'd been looking for a job but couldn't quite find anything that suited him, so he wasn't shocked or put off by the notion. Still, he couldn't deny that he took some issue with the female Spy he worked with.

Sniper considered himself a fairly well put together, professional sort of person, even if he did spend a lot of time roughing it outdoors and pissing in jars and murdering people. He still brushed his teeth, combed his hair, dressed himself presentably, and made polite conversation. He still had standards, for Christ's sake.

This woman had no standards that he could agree with. Her suit was form fitting and left little to the imagination, much in the way a flight attendant's might, but with none of the excuses of lecherous men designing the uniform. High slits in her skirt exposed the tops of her stockings and inches of pale flesh; her low top was equally daring, giving tantalizing glimpses of her cleavage. It wasn't the sort of attire one associated with a wholesome woman.

Granted, Sniper wasn't sure why he expected her to be wholesome in any way. She was a Spy; the entire profession was greasy, unworthy of respect, and he had no doubt that her... distracting choice of dress made it easier for her to gain the "trust" of men. Still, even if he did realize how strange it was to expect anything but scandal from a woman of that sort, he avoided her and told himself it was mostly because she was a backstabber than it was because she was, as his mother might say, a scarlet woman.

His plan might have worked if they hadn't been _on the same team_, which placed them _in the same base_. It was extremely difficult to avoid someone when they shared a living space with you; even more difficult when it turned out that your company was stingy to the point that there was only one locker room. Sniper couldn't figure out if they had designed the building without mixed sex dwellings in mind and simply left it as it was despite hiring a handful of women, or if some higher-up had been laughing to himself as he looked at the blueprints, imagining some sort of harlequin romance taking place. Whatever it was, Sniper was not pleased.

The matter was made even more difficult by the fact that Spy appeared to have no shame about her body—not that women should be ashamed of their bodies, he hastily amended in his mind, but surely there was some... unspoken rule, some universally agreed upon idea that an unmarried young lady ought not traipse around a building full of men in only her underthings.

As he struggled between the conflicting impulses to stare and to run from the room, she caught his eye and grinned. The way she strutted up to him with only a red towel hiding her assets made him stiff as a statue in more than one way.

"Having a conflict of interest, Monsieur?" she asked sweetly, patting his cheek. "It's all right to look... I've shown more, in worse situations. At least you're more pleasant to look at than some of my enemies." She closed his gaping maw for him with a finger and smiled before walking past, just as the Scout (another girl, and this one young and impetuous) walked in.

She whistled. "That's floozy's got you so tight around her finger, and it's been, what?" She consulted the bandages on her left wrist as though they were a watch. "Four days? Damn. You're a goner; I gotta ask her for tips."

And, though he wished he could deny it, Sniper truly was a goner. He was no stranger to love; he knew the rules as surely as she did, and though he might have been jumping the gun, he was thinking of a full commitment. Not that he would tell her. No move would be more ridiculous than grabbing her hand, pulling her into his sniping nest, and saying, "You won't get this from any other man."

For some reason he did it anyway. As he dragged Spy (whose lips were quirked as though she knew exactly what was going to happen) over to his favorite hidey hole, he blamed the faerie tale romances his mother used to tell him. He wasn't supposed to be so impulsive; he was a hardened professional, a cold-blooded killer, a damned bloody idiot who was dragging a beautiful woman up to his secret place to bare his raw heart to her spontaneously.

"I just want to tell you how I'm feeling," he said quickly as they stood together in the shade of the hideout. "I've got to make you understand."

Spy hushed him with a finger on his lips, smirking. "No need." She took off her large, concealing sunglasses, slid off her scarf. "I know how you feel. It's like we've known each other for so long, like your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it. Inside, we both know what's been going on; we know the game, and we're going to play it right now." She reached for him, and he for her, reflecting with amusement that without her heels she would need to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him as she was now.

He slid a hand down her back, over the sweet curve of her bum, and groaned. She knocked his hat off and scratched him lightly with her nails in retaliation. As they pulled apart, breathing heavily, Sniper grinned. "How are you feeling?" he asked, only half-joking.

Spy lightly took off his aviators and pulled at his collar. "Don't tell me you're too blind to see."

With a growl in the back of his throat, Sniper pulled her down on top of him. They made quick work of each other's clothes, and quicker work of each other. (To make up for their swiftness, they had two repeat performances.) As Sniper lit Spy's cigarette with the stub of his own, both leaning in to make it work, he smiled. "I think I'm never gonna give you up."

Spy looked away to blow her smoke through the window, and turned back with a grin. "Fantastique."

* * *

p.s. you just got rick roll'd


	2. Menage A Trois

This is based on a picture Magellan drew, which was based on a joke made during one of her streams, which became ridiculously overblown. (I don't regret that it did.) All you need to know is the phrase "tea porn, eenf eenf" to know what that's all about.

* * *

Medic frowned at his wife from above the pages of his book. The piercing silence that would have reigned was broken by the crackling of the fireplace; he resented it at the moment, despite its necessity in the cold winter. To his chagrin, she frowned right back at him. Realizing the pointlessness in entering another hours-long staring contest with his partner, Medic placed his bookmark cleanly into his book (a guide on vivisection) and shut it with a muffled thump before placing it on the table beside him.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked as he stood, referring to her prior request. She nodded, blonde hair bouncing delicately.

"You remember what the therapist said, don't you?" She placed her hands on her hips. "We are supposed to do more things together, to establish more of a connection and become a healthier couple."

"Although I sincerely doubt that this is what that hack had in mind, I will oblige you," Medic said. He was rewarded by her smile, still as lovely as the day they had met in Germany, and walked beside her with less reluctance.

"Don't look so depressed, darling." She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bedroom, eyes alight with mischief and eagerness. "Many men would kill to be in this position, and you're approaching it like it's your death sentence."

"Perhaps he is afraid to die in flagrante delicto," volunteered the woman who was lingering by his wife's mirror, apparently admiring her own naked breasts. "A man his age has to worry about such things, no?"

Medic's wife laughed, but he merely frowned again, loosening his tie. It had been enough of a slap to the face for his wife—his own _wife_!—to join the opposing team, but for her to give in to and, indeed, flaunt this strange attraction to her team's Spy was outrageous. He might have forgiven her for an attraction to any other of her teammates (or any of his, for that matter), but to the Spy? He snorted as the two women put their heads together, watching him, secrets hissed between the two.

Medic found little interest in the way the Spy undressed his wife, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as her hands dragged over her shirt, catching on her breasts. He simply took that moment to fold his shirt and place his (red) tie over it, followed by his belt, his pants, and eventually his underwear. He felt no shame in his own nudity, and little interest in theirs.

This was simply another ordeal to get through. Medic reminded himself of that, his innate sense of duty flaring up at the same time his erection did, and with that he got to work on the two. His wife raked her gaze over his body and he over hers; though her figure was familiar, he still found his breath somewhat taken. She was slender, her skin light and creamy, nipples pert and pink. He brushed a hand through her hair and removed it from its ponytail, letting it fall over her, and nodded in satisfaction.

The Spy laughed gaily and he turned to her: Darker skin, rounder curves, a somewhat larger bust. He supposed pleasing the two of them at once might not be entirely boring, and as though she had read his mind, the Spy laughed again, eyes dark with arousal. He slapped her thigh, turned her over, and showed her who was the boss.

His wife applauded the performance as though she were at a golf course, so he disciplined her as well.

This cycle repeated itself several times; one of the women would make some joke, she would be spanked or made to do some other degrading thing (kiss the other, touch herself, be restrained and made to beg, et cetera), the other would react with amusement, and so on. Medic found it all very tedious until his captives staged a coup and took him as their own prisoner, administering very similar punishments as well as some new ones (scraping nails down his back, forcing him to perform cunnilingus, and such things), until eventually he found himself buried inside of the Spy while she went down on his wife, whose eyes bore into his own more predatorily than they had in several years, and he came.

And after that it was all very tedious again.

Eventually, after he had lain in bed with the two draping themselves carelessly over his bare chest, the Spy got up and wandered out of the room in nothing but her skin. Medic was unconcerned until she returned minutes later bearing a silver tray, at which point he sat up, arm tightening around his wife and a grin on his face.

"Is that tea?" He squirmed with delight, and suddenly felt he was ready for rounds two, three, and even four as the Spy poured that sweet ambrosia into his cup.

Nothing turned him on like tea.


	3. Sweet Breasteses

Yet another fic based on Magellan's awesome art.

* * *

Spy did not simply admire women. Rather, he considered himself a connoisseur; an expert observer of the fine art of females. He had yet to meet one that he could not look at and find something attractive about, and he felt no disgust in himself over his own fantasies about them. After all, what shame was there to be had in thinking about being with a beautiful girl? Why should he hide that he wanted to cherish them, to worship their bodies as they so rightly deserved?

He made no secret of it. In fact, he was proud of himself.

The problem presented by this openness of perversion was that, after being left in the desert with only men for quite some time, he felt as desperate to see a woman as a drug addict did to get his next fix; therefore, when the opposing team suddenly replaced some of its members with women (and his did not), Spy found himself somewhat overtaken by joy.

It was not his fault that, instead of stabbing the female Sniper in the back, he decloaked and hugged her tightly around the waist, burying his face in the comforting warmth of her breasts. How could any man be expected to resist the siren call of those sweet mounds? Nuzzling into them felt like a homecoming. Of course his teammates were upset when it happened; none of them _knew_, none of them had ever had the chance to see her great beauty, her fierce strength. They had only ever felt the sharpness of a bullet to the brain; Spy had known the softness of her bosom, the elegant waves of her hair, the intoxicating scent of her feminine sweat, the hardness of her muscles, the harsh strike of her cold kukri...

By God, he wanted her.

Circumstance tore them apart; cruelest fate had decided that her team should suddenly decide on equal opportunity employment while his struggled with the prejudices of past decades, therefore pitting them against each other, forcing him to have to learn to stab her despite wanting only to turn her around, rip away her shirt, and show her body the love it so deserved.

The Sniper had no problems insulting, beating, and killing him, but Spy took it all as a sign that she was as torn up as he was. Afraid to show her true feelings for him, she hid beneath the necessary veneer of loathing and team loyalty as she booted him from the window, teeth bared in a grimace of unrequited love.

After weeks of heartache (not helped by his team's inexplicable rash of losses), Spy resolved to tell her he understood, that he shared her feelings. Perhaps he might even convince her to throw caution to the wind and dive into an affair with him; to rendezvous with him at midnight for a lovers' tryst, a meeting of passion and need.

Decloaking, he fell against her breast for what felt like, and possibly was, the hundredth time. He readied himself for his speech—

"Oh, sweet breasteses," he murmured adoringly, rubbing into them.

"Goddamn Spook," she said, pushing his head back.

"No, please," Spy begged, running his gloved hands up her back, lips catching on the material of her shirt.

The Sniper pushed him even harder, and he leaned back reluctantly, arms still about her waist. He waited for her to pick up her blade and administer the killing stroke, but instead, he watched as she laid down her weapons and drew her hands up to her shirt.

"I... I've felt the same way for so long. I've had this slow, glowing dream," she said, "but fear seemed to hide it deep inside my mind. I've cried about it on my own; silent tears, full of pride."

Spy brushed his lips over her knuckles, running his hands up and down her back. "Yes, my dove. We live in a world made of steel, made of stone. We cannot be honest like this, but I..."

The Sniper ripped her shirt open, buttons popping off, breasts falling freely from their sole confines (he had found she never wore a bra), expression wanton. "Take me, Spy," she ordered breathlessly.

He closed his lips over one of her pert, pink, beautiful nipples, humming as he went.

"Oh, I hear the music," she moaned rapturously, closing her eyes. "I feel the rhythm wrap around... take a hold of my heart!" She pulled him closer, and he did the same, worshipping her breast as it had meant to be worshipped all this time. He quickly lifted a hand so the other might be included; switched so he had his mouth on that one and a hand on the other.

"Oh, God, what a feeling!" The Sniper let her head fall back. Spy slithered up her body, kissing her exposed neck as he pushed their hips together as though they were dancing, dancing for their lives—

Spy opened his eyes with a groan as the Sniper bore down on him with her kukri, his delirious thoughts suddenly cleared. "For the last _fucking_ time," said the buxom beauty, "stay the hell away from my knockers!" She ran him through with the blade and glared at his body until it disappeared, caught up by the Respawn system.

"Next time I should just tell him I'm a ruddy lesbian."

* * *

p.s. for those of you who missed the reference, the dialogue (and some narrative) in spy's delusion is all taken from "flashdance...what a feeling"


	4. Oh Medique

Oh Medic

_A Magellan-Eléison Masterpiece_

Spy sighed heavily as she watched Medic dispatch his enemies on the battlefield with the ubersaw, grinning sadistically as he removed the BLU Scout's right arm. Oh, if only _she_ could be on the opposite end of such a beautiful expression on his face~~

She swallowed down her tears as she turned to shoot the BLU Soldier, and raised a hand to her heart as the man fell at her feet. Oh, if only Medic knew! If only she could divulge to him that secret she kept, if only she could show him the depths of her soul! How he would raise his arms to hold her, how he would bring her close and stroke her hair, kissing her softly; words of love trickling like so much sweet water from his lips!

She ran thoughts of his rugged handsomeness, his Jaw of Science, his rubber gloves that he seemed never to remove, as she crept through the BLU Base. That she might snatch up his heart as she snatched up their Intelligence! That he might fall to his knees before her as the BLU Engineer did when she stabbed him in the back—not from pain, as this _mongrel_ did, but from love, from a desire; nay, from a **need** to worship her, to tell her that she was his very moon as he was her sun—

She deposited the Intelligence to her base with a little squeal of delight at her own fantasy, and nearly swooned when the Medic passed by her after the battle, his nod like a poker to the blazing fire of her infatuation. The instant he walked by her replayed in her mind as she draped herself over her bed, hand lain across her forehead as she lamented the fact that they were not yet together.

Oh, if only he could realize how wonderful, how absolutely splendid they would be together! Why, his blade and hers together, they could cut down the entire world! It would bring her the utmost joy if he would only see, if he would only look beyond the moment and realize that their souls were so intrinsically, irrevocably entwined…

She cried out, for it was too much! The injustice of it! The desire, the necessity, the tug she felt within her heart and her spirit!

Spy could withstand it no longer, she decided, pulling herself up from the bed and clenching a fist. She would tell him! It was now, or never; he must know, and he must be the one to grasp her firmly in his arms, to hold her tight and say, "Mein liebling, mein kuschelbar, mein geburtstagkuchen, mein schadenfreude, mein sauerkraut—"

She quivered as she thought of all the sweet nothings Medic might whisper into her ear in German, hugging herself tightly before she stepped out into the hallway, not daring to let the others see how viscerally she was affected by the mere thought of the doctor's sweet, soothing voice, the thought of his stubble scratching lightly against her cheek. Her trembling was for none to see but Medic himself, for it was her gift to him! The gift of devotion, the gift of love!

Spy marched into Medic's office and flung open the door, stricken still by the image he presented, seated calmly at his desk, a cup of tea steaming gently beside him like her affection for him steamed so gently yet persistently inside of her, like her attraction to him warmed her and made her feel liquid like that lucky tea that he was now sipping—

She could take their separation no longer! "Oh, Medique!" She was nearly sobbing as she threw herself upon him, clutching him like he was the last bastion of sanity, of hope, of goodness in a sea of evil and despair~ Medic was her life raft, and upon him would she be transported to an island of wonder and joy! He would take her there gently, pleasantly, carrying her, enveloping her, and she would caress him with all of her gratitude. Oh, what a beautiful, reliable man he was!

"Medique, Medique," she moaned rapturously as he twitched beneath her hand, "Medique~! I love you so! Do not part from me, Medique; you are my very heart! You are my other half!"

Medic stared straight ahead, glaring down at his paperwork. Spy gasped in horror. She knew what was keeping them apart!

"Medique, forget that— that fat _hussy_!" She shouted. "The Heavy, he is only using you for your greatness! He is only taking advantage of how charitable, of how positively _sacrificial_ you are!" She wept, her head falling onto his broad, warm shoulder, tears sinking into his lab coat just as the realization that there was a great, fleshy barrier between the two of them had sunk into her!

"Medique, my sweet Medique… Oh, dread," she moaned. "Oh, despair! Oh, sweet misery!" Spy clutched at Medic once more, her hand buried in his hair, shaking with her sobs. "Medique, Medique; Fate, she is so cruel! A harsh mistress, holding me on a chain, refusing to let me ever find happiness! Keeping us apart for sheer thrill!"

She spread her palm over his chest. "Can you feel it, Medique? The beating of your heart…" She grabbed his hand and clutched it to her breast. "It beats just as mine does! Even from across this chasm of sorrow—"

"Frau Spy," Medic cut in, his tone sharp.

"What is it, my dearest, my one, my love, my only—"

"You have won. I apologize for implying that your sex negatively affected your performance on the battlefield." He was staring straight at the wall, jaw clenched. "Now, if you would please let go of my hand and allow me to finish my paperwork?"

Spy dropped Medic's hand carelessly, sneering at him as she patted his head. "Of course. Au revoir, Medic." She closed the door gently behind her and lit a cigarette. "Swine."


End file.
